Bad Touch
by pantlesshero
Summary: TRIGGER WARNINGS for self-harm and eating disorders. Slight bloodplay, d/s and well ... this is MESSY. Jeremiah is an asshole, and he hates it. Sebastian knows, and is an even bigger one. Messy, dirty, violent, dark sex. Lol.


When Sebastian snuck into the bathroom, knowing that his beloved one - though he still refused to call him that, and instead stayed with 'latest catch' – was in there, he might have expected several things. A sleepy, grumpy version of his boyfriend, who would pretend not to be the slightest bit impressed by Sebastian's flirtatious morning advances. He might also be up for a session of lazy morning-sex, which was usually the way to begin an awesome day.

What he hadn't expected at all were the few thick, red drops that caught his eye as they hit the perfectly white floor, and for a moment, his eyes were glued to the image, only to swallow hard when his gaze flickered upwards, and he froze to the spot.

The lines the drops had left on the smooth flesh of the other one's forearm led Sebastian's eyes to three deep, dark red cuts, out of which fresh blood was almost pouring, at least it was the most accurate description of the horrifying – yet, to a terrifying part beautiful – image they provided.

„Jer?"

Sebastian's voice was nothing more than a rough gasp, but obviously still clear enough for his boyfriend to hear him.

Jeremiah startled, and a feather light, tingling noise echoed through the bathroom as a razor fell to the floor, the silver stained with smeared blood.

„Are you lost?"

Sebastian blinked at the cold tone Jeremiah held, it felt defensive, but at the same time hard and completely foreign to him, at least he had forgotten what it was like for Jeremiah to talk to him like he honestly didn't want him to be around, didn't want him to share anything inside of him, didn't want him to even look at anything beneath his skin.

But right now, that was what Sebastian did, more than ever, and unconsciously, he licked his lips, his gut still twisting with the most mixed of feelings.

Without saying another word, he surged forward and didn't give Jeremiah another chance to push him away as he wrapped his arms firmly around his waist, becoming aware of how thin he actually had become. While Sebastian had always had a rather slim figure – similar to a certain merkat, as one particular fashionista loved to point out, even know that he had backed off of Blaine and they were a strange kind of friends – Jeremiah had never been overly thin, but any trace of a belly Sebastian hadn't had any problem to appreciate was gone, replaced with the easily detectable trace of ribs and hipbones.

Despite the hardness Jeremiah's gaze bore as Sebastian met his eyes in the mirror, his voice seemed to tremble.

„Go away."

Sometimes Sebastian didn't get himself, and this was one of those times – but Jeremiah was just like him about sharing his feelings, about opening up, and maybe that's what made them click in the first place. But right now, right this second now, it felt like Sebastian could see everything, could look at Jeremiah, exposed, vulnerable, and he couldn't do anything about it. Not a single thing.

And everybody knew how much Sebastian loved power and control.

Wrapping his long, slender fingers around Jeremiah's wrist, who was struggling but failing to get rid of his grip, he forced his arm upwards to press a more experimental than tender kiss next to one of the cuts, some fresh, warm blood sticking to his lips.

Jeremiah shuddered heavily, his arm loosening, and as Sebastian looked up, he saw his boyfriend's eyes flutter shut, lips parted, and cheeks flushed.

Damn. He knew this was the point where he demanded an explanation, acted comforting and loving before he dragged Jeremiah to a psychologist, but he didn't feel like any of it, and this wasn't a territory Sebastian was comfortable and familiar with.

Anyway, he had probably missed that moment already, so he decided to do what everyone always expected from Sebastian – follow his instincts. Which might have not been the most moral thing, but apparently exactly what made Jeremiah's walls crash, so Sebastian pressed his lips more firmly against his arm, meeting the edge of one of the cuts, sucking just a few drops of blood inside his mouth, unconsciously licking his lips as he pulled away.

By now, Jeremiah's head had dropped backwards, his neck straining and his locks tickling Sebastian's ear as they exposed Jeremiah's features completely.

No matter how intense their sex had been from the start, this was a whole new layer of close, so close and usually it would have been too close for Sebastian, but it was him digging deep into Jeremiah, and not the other way around, and that made it not only alright, but perfect, intoxicating, as if he was drowning in the most delicious way.

He felt himself harden more and more with each new wave of pleasure washing over him, and by now it became more than apparent that his boyfriend felt exactly the same way, and knowing the motion but not the feeling that went with it exactly this second, he let his free hand caress the soft line of light hair as he followed it down into Jeremiah's boxers, gripping his erection not tight enough to be rough, but just good enough to make him moan loudly right beside his ear, his lips starting to mumble inaudible words, something he always did when he let loose, and one of the things that Sebastian was so fascinated by. He'd never admit it, but he would always wonder what it was Jeremiah wanted to say, or tried to say, but couldn't really get out, couldn't bring himself to make it heard.

Sebastian loved secrets. He loved exposing people, he loved challenges and maybe that was what had caught him about Jeremiah, that he was so full of them, that the guy itself was a mistery, and that he'd probably never be able to know everything about him, not all the time.

It scared him a little to think about what that meant, to think about how he couldn't picture himself with anyone else by his side but this beautiful man in the mirror, arching his back now to buck up into Sebastian's agonizingly slow and tender grip. Still, he didn't even want to snap out of it.

Liquid warmth against his thumb ripped him out of his thoughts, and he noticed that, opposed to the way he jerked Jeremiah off, he had gripped his arm too tight and while the cuts slowly stopped bleeding, one had opened up again and some more blood started dropping upon the floor, staining both their skin.

Stroking Jeremiah more impatiently, he pressed his own crotch against his ass, hipbones meeting soft flesh, his cock firmly against the hot slit, while he brought Jeremiah's forearm once again to kiss the cut directly, this time biting down around it.

A loud hiss and more mumbled words, louder, but still impossible to understand tumbled from Jeremiah's lips as Sebastian's mouth filled with the metallic, salty, hot taste of his boyfriend's blood.

And all of a sudden, Sebastian grew angry. It wasn't like he wasn't aroused anymore, hell, he was fucking starving for something, anything, Jeremiah, but somehow the taste, the thick liquid on his tongue made him angry. He wasn't sure if he was angry at his boyfriend, or at the reasons that made him do it, but he wanted to know. So he let go and wrapped his arms around Jeremiah's waist.

He wanted to know what he was angry at.

„Why."

It didn't come out as more than a grit, and it sounded furious, and Jeremiah shuddered violently underneath his steadily tightening grip, and even when the other one's knuckles grew white and the veins on his forearm started pulsing more visible, and his wounds started leaking again, Sebastian didn't let go.

Jeremiah was choking, gaping for air and words, and panted a few times.

„I'm an asshole."

„Why."

Sebastian's voice just grew more impatient, more insistent, and Jeremiah knew he wouldn't be able to get out of this at all when his boyfriend got like this. He could still feel his whole body hurt at the memory of former raging moments. Few bruises were actually proof for those moments, but none of them ever spoke about it, no apologies and no complaints.

„I don't want my father to die. I don't want her to need me. I hate it. But fuck, I don't care about him. I just don't want to deal with her."

It sounded like he spat every single word out, and fuck, he was right. He was an asshole. But Sebastian bit down on his shoulder, hard, and made him scream, dryly, completely taken by suprise.

„Feel that? That's where I shoved you against the kitchen counter last week."

They were both heaving, aching, but now wasn't the time, and Jeremiah didn't understand, he didn't think he would ever understand this man.

„You're right, you're an asshole. But I'm an even bigger one. I can deal with it. Pull yourself together, what are you? You really think that's gonna make you a better person?"

Pushing forward, hard, Jeremiah felt his hipbones crush against the sink that was now stained with a few more red drops, and he groaned once more, in pain, not in pleasure, but he felt hot all over and it almost made him grow dizzy.  
>„You're weak. You're such a pussy. Are you some kind of punching bag for everyone or what? For me, yeah. You know you're doing that for me. I want you to. Everyone else can go fuck themselves."<p>

Jeremiah knew it. He knew Sebastian was right. Sebastian was a fucking asshole, he was violent, and he was controlling. And Jeremiah was okay with it, because he loved him, he didn't love the pain, but he was okay with it.

He wasn't okay with everyone else. He didn't want everyone else to use him. But that wasn't what pissed him off, because he should let people use him. But he didn't want to.

„Fuck them."

It was one last, hoarse, rough statement, and it was the end of the conversation. Almost.

„Fuck. I love you."

„Shut up."

And he knew that was it, it was his answer, it would always be Sebastian's answer, and that was okay because Jeremiah knew he was something to him. Jeremiah didn't let go around other people. He didn't keep them around when he had messed up, let go, except for Jeremiah.

Even before he could realize that he was growing hard again, he felt Sebastian rip his briefs down, and he stumbled a little as he tried to free his legs enough to kick them off, and he just succeeded when Sebastian tugged violently at his worn out sleeping shirt, and pulled it over his head, not caring that it got stained too, and that his arm hurt, throbbed when the rough material scratched over the still open wounds.

It was what both of them were, open, vulnerable, bare, naked. Sebastian was already naked. Jeremiah hadn't noticed how, he hadn't paid attention, was too lost in thoughts that went to deep, to deep down because they should be there out in the open, and so he started mumbling again, resting his head on Sebastian's shoulder once more, his eyes wide open.

The other man was rubbing his erection against Jeremiah's lower back, and he felt his skin dampen from its sticky pre-cum, but fuck, who was he to talk, he loved this, because they were together and they shared, everything, their bodies, their minds, their hatred for everything and their anger at everyone else, their anger at each other.

His own cock was hard, pink and curved upwards, resting against his belly where it had started leaking, too, but he didn't have to beg, he never had to, it was something he'd never do.

Sebastian fisted his cock, stroking in fast, practised motions, and moans, groans, whimpering noises snuck into the mumbled words that were out there, pure.

Jeremiah pressed back against his crotch as much as possible, but there wasn't much room to push, until Sebastian shifted, reaching over to the closet, his hand hitting the mirror first, smearing sweat, pink from some leftover blood over the surface, before he found the handle, pulling it open.

A few one-way razors tumbled off of the small shelf, but neither of them bothered, because Sebastian found what he had been looking for and released Jeremiah's cock, and hell he swore.

„Fucking shit, don't stop, asshole ..."

„Shut up, bitch."

He did that a lot. It might have sounded humiliating, but it wasn't. Maybe to other people, not to him.

It didn't take Sebastian long to pour a generous amount of lube on his long, nimble fingers, and the tiny splashes of the drops that missed and hit the floor, as well as the bottle Sebastian threw away carelessly mixed with the buzzing in Jeremiah's ears, unable to really catch his attention, because then those fingers pressed inside him, two at a time, and he hissed, swore, mumbled, sweat dripping down over the back of his nose, and then he opened his eyes and it was a mistake. Some of the salty fluid had stuck to his lashes, and now it stung, his eyes stung, and his arm fucking hurt, and the stretch was painful and the only good thing about it was when Sebastian finally hit his prostate.

And as always, it all started to blend together in his head, his whole body was burning, tingling, and the pain started being pleasurable, tearing his skin away, his thoughts, his fucking guilt.

He had been prepared for a third finger, but it never came, instead Sebastian pulled out and he felt so empty, metaphorically and literally, so he cried out, but then Sebastian pressed his hand over Jeremiah's mouth and he felt the tip of his cock slide over his hole a few times before he finally, fucking finally pressed inside.

It was too much, but he didn't care, because everything was too much, and Sebastian had never been any less. He loved it. He loved him, but most of all he loved them, when they were like this, so he forced himself back onto his thick, pulsating, hot cock and let him thrust inside him, balls deep.

The other man pulled out again, until nothing but the tip rested inside the tight ring of muscles, but didn't grant Jeremiah a single break before his hips snapped forward once more.

They didn't have a rhythm, because they never fit, they were so different and too similar at the same time, but somehow it always work, and Jeremiah screamed, the words that had been too low, had blurred together before now too loud and inconherent to be understood, but Sebastian was screaming too, biting him, pushing his nails into the wounds that had stopped bleeding, but still hurt.

His hips would hurt, too, as soon as this was over, snapping against the sink again and again, still, he wouldn't say he didn't care because he did, he wanted to feel it. He was so sick of everything.

It didn't take them long, it never took any of them long, no matter when or how often they'd do it.

And then Jeremiah came, in long, thick ropes, all over the mirror and the sink, and they were lucky they didn't have to care about any of it. Nobody else lived here, this was Jeremiah's place, and secretly, it was Sebastian's place, too.

They didn't think about it, though, because Jeremiah was still pulsing, coming, so Sebastian started coming inside him, filling him with warmth, sticky warmth, and as soon as they both were done, he pulled out with one swift motion.

Jeremiah was panting, and dropped down on the floor. Everything was so messy, his own blood, lube, their sweat and some of Sebastian's come that was seeping out of his ass cheeks now mixed together.

Sebastian flopped down next to him, pulling him into an equally messy kiss.

„We're assholes. Deal with it."

He rarely used the word 'we', but it meant the world to both of them. And then they rested against each other, leaning into each other, none above the other.

They were equals now. And then Jeremiah started choking a little, laughing about his own watering eyes, and Sebastian raised his arm to massage Jeremiah's bruise, which hurt, but he knew what the gesture meant.

He knew it meant that Sebastian trusted him enough to know this about him.

They knew each other.

They knew.


End file.
